


Carry On, Wayward Sons

by stubblesandwich



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CSSNS, F/M, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural cross-over
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15861360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubblesandwich/pseuds/stubblesandwich
Summary: As the only large animal veterinarian in a small farm town in Maine, David Nolan has enough on his plate. Business is booming, his wife is getting ready to start a new school year, and his daughter and grandson are about to visit for the weekend. So naturally, the last thing he needs is to find a pair of strange brothers in his barn, one of which has been mauled within an inch of death by a mountain lion. The other seems all too happy to keep his gun trained on David’s chest. Only, it wasn’t a mountain lion that did the mauling. In fact, it was so not a mountain lion that the Nolans are suddenly confronted with a dangerous part of their pasts they’ve worked hard to leave behind.





	Carry On, Wayward Sons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distant_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/gifts).



> So my pal distant_rose and I had the most amazing idea at the start of the year for a Supernatural/Once crossover, with the brothers Jones taking on the role of the Winchester brothers. Then came the inimitable Captain Swan Supernatural Summer, for which I am eternally grateful, and I knew I had to take this on. This version will feature some basic plot lines from the earliest seasons of Supernatural, but it’s certainly going to take on a life of its own. No characters from Supernatural will be featured; this is more like the characters we love from Once inhabiting the world of Supernatural, which many of you may not be familiar with (but you should give it a chance, if you haven’t already!). Thanks for reading! Hit me up in the comments!

After as many years as he'd spent in the country, David would have thought he'd be used to the damn rooster by now. 

It was a finicky thing, their old rooster, only crowing when he felt like it. Once the afternoon rolled around, his cock-a-doodle-doos usually preceded a storm. But in the morning, he kept the Nolans on their toes. Sometimes, he wouldn't crow at all. Other days, his bawling was ear-splitting, and he seemed to prefer the spot right beneath the window on David's side of the bed.

Like today. 

The sun was just broaching the hillside when David awoke, its dim light barely visible through the sheer blinds over their bedroom window. David groaned. "Dumb rooster," he muttered, as he blinked away the grog from his eyes. There was no way he was going back to sleep now. Once he was up, he was up for the day. 

Begrudgingly accepting his fate, he propped himself up and leaned over, left a kiss between the silver and the dark of his wife's hair, and sat up. His shoulders popped softly as he stretched his arms above his head. 

Snow wouldn't wake for another few hours, and he wanted to let her sleep as long as she could. There were no classes for her to teach in the summer, naturally, but she had mentioned wanting to go in to work to start getting her classroom organized for the upcoming year. (Even though David knew full well she had already organized everything months ago, when the school year had ended in June.) 

But his wife was a worker bee, always finding it difficult to not be doing something. She enjoyed their summers off together, but he knew she truly loved teaching; he didn't take it personally. She'd help him on their farm, often collecting the eggs for him, milking the occasional goat, or watering their scant collection of crops if he hadn't gotten to it yet that day. But the farm had always been more his thing.

David went through his morning routine slowly, still waking up, before he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. The old stairs creaked in all the familiar spots, and he heard the jangle of a dog collar as their herding dog, Wilby, no doubt raised his head up off his paws as he heard David coming down the stairs. 

There was something particularly tranquil about being the first one awake in an empty house. Light was just beginning to flood in through the windows downstairs, giving the white half curtains a warm glow. Outside, the wind chime above the front door rung gently, and the lightweight curtains billowed out as a breeze nudged them through an open window. 

Wilby sat by the door patiently, eyes on his master. David readied his breakfast, tidying up as he went. Wilby waited an impressive five minutes before whining to be let out. “All right, boy,” David said, chuckling. He gave him a scratch behind his ear before he opened the door, and Wilby tore out the doorway immediately, racing across the yard after an unsuspecting rabbit near the barn. 

David watched him fondly for a moment before returning to the stove. He made a spare portion of omelet for his wife and put it in the fridge, before scrawling a note for her that her breakfast was in the fridge, he loved her, and that he would be out in the barn getting a head start on the morning chores. 

He wrapped his own breakfast in foil, slipped it into his vest pocket, then slung on his work boots and headed out the side door toward the barn.

He heard the barking immediately.

It was Wilby, and he sounded pissed, his barking echoing across the yard. David's gut sank all the way to his boots. 

He took off at a jog, slinging mud off his heels from the previous night's rain. The barn door, usually locked, pushed open easily. 

Someone was in there.

He held the door as it swung inward, careful to not let it hit the wall and give him away to whomever was waiting on the other side. He cursed himself for not bringing his pistol out with him. But there was an array of tools on the first wall of the barn, and his wood chopping ax would do just fine. He pulled it off the wall, keeping care to stay quiet.

Apart from Wilby, who was still barking up a storm, there was no sign of disturbance. David's eyes shot around the barn, scrutinizing his familiar work space. Nothing was out of place, as far as he could tell. Even so, a heavy sense of dread had settled into his stomach. 

He held the ax in one hand, cocked upward from his hip, ready. 

David Nolan was a hard man to take by surprise. Less so these days, perhaps, with much less spring and his step and plenty of grey in his hair to go around, but still hard to catch off guard. Whoever was in there had most certainly picked the wrong barn to break into.

Wilby was locked in an empty horse stall, bawling loudly. 

"Hey, boy," David said soothingly as he peered over the side of the stall's half door. Wilby jumped up immediately, pawing enthusiastically at David's hand. “How'd you get stuck in here, hmm? Door slam behind you while you were nosing around?” 

The unsettled feeling in his gut told him otherwise. But if someone was in the barn, listening, he didn't want him or her to know he thought any differently. 

As soon as he was let out, Wilby darted across the barn, toward the stalls on the opposite wall. David followed closely behind with wide strides. 

One of the stall doors was ajar. Only slightly so, and it was easy to miss if you didn't know what you were looking for. Just a thin, dark crack between the half door and the wall it pressed against, as if the latch hadn't been put in place carefully enough. David's eyes zoned in on it like a hawk. 

Wilby started nosing the stall door immediately, but David held him back by his collar. 

Something on the other side of the stall door groaned. It was quiet, almost inaudible. It sounded pained, albeit weak. Wilby lunged, held back only by David's strong grip on him. 

There was a leash hanging on a hook on the wall, left there from the last time he'd had to restrain an animal for a checkup, and he walked Wilby over to it slowly. David saw a wide variety of creatures big and small as a veterinarian specializing in large farm animals. Some of them required long leashes. Fortunately, the one hanging on the wall was long enough to be looped around a stall post and leave plenty of room for Wilby to move about while still keeping him out of harm's way—or so David hoped. 

He knew his dog was less than thrilled. Usually given complete free range of the farm, Wilby hadn't been tied since he was a pup. But now, David needed him restrained. Someone had broken into his barn, and he had no idea who—or what—was on the other side of that stall door. 

He turned back toward the farthest stall, wishing again he'd had the foresight to bring his pistol out with him that morning. Whatever had made that sound on the other side of the half door sounded far from threatening; rather, it sounded injured. But David knew better than most how dangerous an injured animal could be. 

The problem was most animals didn't know how to unlock a barn door. His grip on his ax tightened. 

The stall door creaked as he nudged it open with the toe of his boot. 

He saw the man instantly. He was lying on the ground, supine in the hay and dirt. He was fairly young—mid thirties, if David had to guess. It was hard to tell. The man winced as the stall door creaked, but otherwise looked relatively at peace as he slept. Sleep-softened features and the few stray dark curls matted across his forehead made him look younger than he likely was. He was dressed in dark, unremarkable clothing. In fact, the most remarkable thing about him was the blood soaking through his tattered pant leg, staining the hay beneath him. 

Below a crudely-tied tourniquet on his thigh, the rest of his pant leg was completely shredded. _Shit_ , David thought, and his stomach lurched. The second he took a step forward, he heard the distinct, heavy click of a handgun cocking. 

“Take one more step and you're a dead man.” 

David froze. It was a man's voice, deep and coarse. Out of the corner of his eye, a dark figure stepped out from the corner of the stall. 

David turned his head slowly. A second man—younger than the one lying on the ground—stood pointing a pistol at him. The hard look on his face told David he wasn't bluffing with it, either. His hair was dark, tousled and sticking on one side where blood dripped down from a gash across his forehead. For a few seconds, David locked eyes with him. 

“Drop the ax,” the man said brusquely. Slowly, David did so, and the steel head made a soft thump as it dropped to the dirt. 

“Hands up.” 

David raised his hands in the air, still eyeing him. 

He was young—compared to David, at least. Late twenties, early thirties at the oldest. It certainly didn't aid David's approximating skills that both men were covered in dirt and blood. This one looked like he hadn't slept in at least a day.

He looked like hell warmed over. 

David cleared his throat. “Look,” he said, “Whoever you are--” 

“Save it,” the man said. “That's my brother,” he tilted his head toward the other man on the ground. David's eyes dropped to the floor, studying him briefly. He didn't look good. 

“I'd do anything to protect him,” the younger man said. With a gun in his hand, the threat behind the words was self evident. _I'd even kill you if I have to. Don't do anything stupid._

“An ambulance might be a good start,” David said dryly. 

The younger man shook his head vehemently. “No hospital. No police.” 

David nodded slowly in understanding. “All right,” he said. A few tense seconds passed. “Well,” David went on, “If you're going to keep pointing that thing at me, at least let me take a look at him.” 

Surprise flickered through the younger man's eyes. The aggressive facade dropped for a split second, giving way to something close to fear. But the break in resolve was gone in a flash, and his features hardened again, suspicious. “What?” 

“You picked the right guy's barn to break into,” David said sardonically. “I happen to know a few things about fixing people up.” Really, what he knew was fixing up horses, cows, and other large semi-domesticated animals. But people weren't too far off the mark, in his mind, and he had a decent amount of medical supplies right there in the barn.

The other man said nothing, only stared at David silently. David could see the gears turning as he considered his offer. If he was weighing his options, the other side of the scale was most certainly bare. He nodded once and lowered his gun; David noticed he didn't put it away entirely. But once it was no longer pointed at his chest, he visibly relaxed. 

Gingerly, he began to crouch down to the injured man's level. The younger man, however, didn't move. He just stood there, watching, and the air between them hung heavy and awkward. 

David assessed the injured man with a sweep of his eyes. There was a makeshift tourniquet on his upper thigh, fashioned crudely with a leather belt. The rest of the leg was covered in blood, the thick denim fabric of his jeans stained a dark, nearly-black red. 

“What the hell happened to him?” David asked, unable to keep a tinge of awe from his voice.

This seemed to catch the younger man momentarily off guard. His eyes widened slightly as he looked from his brother, to David, then back to his brother again, clearly fumbling in his head to find an answer. “Mountain lion,” he said finally. David didn't believe him for even half a second. He nodded anyway, then started to stand. Instantly, the gun was back on him. 

“What are you doing?” the younger man asked roughly.

“Easy there,” David said. “I need supplies. Gauze, bandages. Stitches, probably. Your brother's lost a lot of blood, I'm assuming, and likely still losing it as we speak. All my medical equipment is in the back room.” 

He could have been imagining it, but he swore some of the color dropped from the younger man's face. “Fine,” he said, “But I'm coming with you.” Inwardly, David prickled at that. Outwardly, he shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant motion and turned toward the stall door. 

Most of the time, he saw his four-legged patients out in his barn, instead of at his office in town. Ergo and fortunately, that meant most of his supplies were there in the barn, as well. It was a short walk to the supply room, in the very back of the barn. David's new acquaintance was behind him every step of the way, trailing him as closely—and as silently—as a shadow. David would have been impressed if he weren't so perturbed. 

It didn't take long for him to figure out what he needed. Bandages and gauze, as he had said. Stitching suture, for sure. Peroxide, water, and an antiseptic solution. He'd been meaning to order more Lidocaine, an anesthetic agent used to numb the skin before a stitching needle was inserted. Its usual spot on the shelf was bare. He was out, which instantly made things a lot more difficult. He pushed a few rolls of bandages out of the way and reached up, hoping to miraculously find more Lidocaine tucked back on a higher shelf. 

Apparently, he had moved a little too quickly. 

“Easy, mate,” the younger brother said gruffly behind him, and David felt the tip of his handgun press into the small of his back. This was the last straw. 

David turned around quickly, catching the other man off guard. The gun was on David's stomach now, and he took a step forward, letting the pistol's short barrel press into his abdomen. 

“Do it,” David said in challenge. “Shoot me. But then your only chance at helping your brother dies with me.”

The younger man just stood there, gobsmacked, looking at David with wide blue eyes. David stared him down, resolve unwavering, and eventually the younger man lowered his gun, clicked the safety on, and slipped the gun into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

David sighed. “There,” he said, “That wasn't so hard, was it? I was just moving some things around, looking for something. Nothing nefarious.” The younger man gave a short, humorless laugh, and in that moment David couldn't help but feel bad for him, despite the situation he'd put them in. 

“I don't have anything to numb him with,” David explained cautiously, “Which means stitching up your brother... it's not exactly going to be pleasant for him.” 

The man stared, unblinking, long enough for David to question whether or not he had heard him. Then he nodded and said, “I understand. We'll make do.” 

David offered him a thin smile. _I doubt that_ , he wanted to say. Instead he said, “Here,” and handed him a few of the supplies. “Carry these for me.” 

When they returned to the stall, the older brother hadn't moved. He was in the exact position he had been left in, face turned toward the door, his injured leg strangely bent. 

“You might have to hold him down,” David said quietly. The younger brother didn't respond, and David was growing markedly annoyed by his silence and overall lack of helpfulness. 

David squatted down in front of the injured man, appraising him again briefly before he took the heel of the man's boot in his palm and gently rotated his leg. The man groaned, stirring once, but didn't waken. Carefully, David began to unlace the boot. It stuck a little as he pried it off, eventually coming free of the heel with a sticky pop. It was immediately evident why; his sock was sopping wet with blood. 

David swore quietly as he started to pull the sock off next. Then would come the pants; here was no point in trying to take them off altogether, not when David didn't know the extent of the injuries he was dealing with. There was also the matter of the tourniquet, and David would be a fool to try to remove that for no good reason. With a pair of medical shears, he began to cut whatever was left of the denim fabric carefully along the inside of the leg. The ripped pant leg, too, was soaked through with blood. 

The man groaned again. This time, the younger brother knelt down and pulled the older man's head gently into his lap, shushing him a bit with a few soothing words David couldn't quite make out. Eventually, he was able to cut away enough fabric, up past the knee and to the tourniquet, to expose most of the man's leg. 

David took in a sharp breath. 

The older brother's calf had been clawed deeply, skin shredded nearly to the bone. Just above the knee, embedded in the meaty flesh of the thigh, were three distinct bite marks; they were clean cut, almost like incisions from a scalpel. Two on bottom, one centered above them—like a triangle. David's stomach twisted into one big, cold knot. He looked up quickly at the younger of the two brothers, who returned his gaze curiously. 

“Mountain lion my ass,” David hissed. “I'd know these marks anywhere.” 

The look on the younger man's face would have been funny in any other situation. His jaw went slack, eyes as big as saucers. “How...” he started, but David cut him off. 

“Were you hunting it?” he asked. “You two seem stupid enough to try to hunt it. Tell me, did you chase it all the way up to my damn house in the middle of the night?” 

“No,” the younger man said angrily, but David just guffawed disbelievingly. 

“Then why the hell--”

“David?” 

They both turned at the sound of a woman's voice, coming from the front entrance of the barn. David's wife's voice, to be precise. 

The younger man shot David a look, and David couldn't tell if it was panic, anger, or some sort of hybrid between the two. 

“Don't come back here, dear,” he called out loudly to Snow. The injured brother twitched violently on the ground at the sound of David's raised voice. 

“What?” Snow asked. Her voice was louder; she was obviously getting closer, made clear as the barn door shut with a loud bang behind her. Wilby started whining for her. 

“One of the horses got sick,” he called back. “Trust me, you don't want to come back here.” 

There was silence for a few beats before Snow asked, “Which horse?” 

“Lancelot.” 

“Got it. Okay, I'll leave you to it, then. I've got some lesson planning to do, anyway. See you for lunch?” 

“You bet,” David said, loud enough for his wife to hear. He and the other man sat silently for a few moments until they heard the barn door shut again. 

When David looked back over at the younger brother, the pistol was on him again. David sighed. “Is that really necessary?” 

The younger man smiled coldly. “You tell me,” he said. “Suddenly you seem to need a little more convincing.” 

“More convincing than when I thought your brother had been mauled by a mountain lion?” David said, his tone saturated in sarcasm. “Yes, I do. Because I know what did this, and it isn't a member of the big cat family.” 

The smile, fake as it was, died on the younger brother's face, replaced by a dark look.

“Nothing to say?” David taunted angrily, though he kept his voice lowered. 

“Look,” the younger brother sighed, “I don't know what you think did this, but--” 

“Were you hunting it?” David interrupted.

“Hunting what, exactly?” 

“Were. You. Hunting. It.” 

The younger man stared at David, as if he were trying to figure out exactly what David knew—or thought he knew. Coming to a decision, eventually he said simply, “Yes.” 

David swore again, and the younger man shifted uncomfortably on his knees. “You two are idiots, taking that thing on by yourselves,” he said. 

“Watch it, mate,” the younger man growled. “You seem to forget which one of us is holding a gun.” 

“I brought one, too,” came Snow's voice from the doorway. 

They both jumped then at the sharp, distinct sound of a shotgun being pumped. David's wife was standing in the doorway of a stall, casually aiming the barrel of a long gun down at the younger brother. 

She flashed him a smile.


End file.
